


you give me (something to believe in)

by cursingcursive (queenradi)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Infinity War spoilers, M/M, inbetween fic, like what went down between movies, they're in love and trying to be happy ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-08 22:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14704032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenradi/pseuds/cursingcursive
Summary: “I knew it!” Shuri crowed.“What?”“Barnes misses Rogers!”T’Challa raised his eyebrows. He’d assumed no one else had come to this conclusion, though now he supposed that if he had figured it out, his sister was three times as likely to already have done it. “I’m beginning to think that Captain Rogers’s presence would help Sergeant Barnes greatly in his recovery,” T’Challa said.(Steve comes back to Wakanda for the first time since Bucky's been out of cryo.)





	you give me (something to believe in)

**Author's Note:**

> title from dua lipa's "homesick"

It wasn’t like Bucky was  _ lonely _ in Wakanda. He had Shuri, hanging off of him and poking him with needles and asking him questions and scanning him and giving him new tech to try out. He had the Dora Milaje stationed as his guard, who taught him the language and how to fight with one arm and even how to cook some of the local cuisine. He had the children who came to visit him on the farm, chasing the goats and playing in the garden and braiding ribbons into his hair. Sometimes he even had T’Challa, and they sat and ate and talked about anything, and they got to know each other and the differences in their worlds. He wasn’t lonely. 

But there was still a hollow ache in his chest. At first he thought it was phantom limb syndrome, the dull, false pain in the arm he no longer had. Shuri gave him some psychiatric medication for it, but all it did was improve his productivity and general outlook on life. The ache did not fade. 

Okoye suggested more activity, and she tossed him headfirst into a training regime that would have run him into the ground if he wasn’t a supersoldier. Even with that handy little boost, the Dora Milaje kicked his ass consistently, and he had to politely back out of training sessions when it became clear that he just was not up for the challenge. The ache remained. 

T’Challa had the closest guess for a solution, it was discovered. He began teaching Bucky to cook, more so than the Dora Milaje had. T’Challa would bring boxes of ingredients and dishes to the hut, the interior of which lived up to the utopic standards in the city, and together they would cook Wakandan food. Rice dishes, potato stews, curries, meat sauces, fruit desserts, anything and everything T’Challa could think of he taught Bucky to cook, and after a while the ache dulled. 

Yet it persisted. 

“Is there anything you can think of?” T’Challa asked, one particularly difficult day. He and Bucky sat in the grass outside the hut, watching the goats and chickens graze in the distance, the sun red and hugging the horizon as it set. “Anything from your childhood, maybe, that would make you happy?” 

Bucky shook his head. He took another bite of the creamy sauce and rice dish they’d made, and while it certainly warmed him inside it did not satiate the source of the hurt. “I’m missing something,” he said. “Something important. I don’t know what it is.” He shook his head again. “I’ve been missing it for a long time, though. I know that.” 

T’Challa considered him, food forgotten, and then he nodded. “I think I understand,” he said gently. 

They ate in silence, watching the sunset, and Bucky wished there was some way he could make T’Challa understand just how much he appreciated everything this country had done, and continued to do, for him. 

 

“I know what our White Wolf is missing,” T’Challa said to Shuri the next day. 

“We all know what he is missing, brother,” Shuri shot back, grinning. She swept her hand over one of the larger, more occupied lab tables. Wires and vibranium plates and energy processors and blueprints and synthetic nerve systems littered the surface, a shining array of tech that confused T’Challa but would bend to his sister’s every whim. 

“Not the arm,” he said. “Though I am glad to see it’s coming along well.” 

“Well enough. It should be done within the month.” Shuri moved to resume her tinkering, head bowed, eyes focusing in the way that meant she was about to dive down and not resurface for a long, long time. T’Challa needed to keep her attention. 

“I’m talking about Steve Rogers,” he said. 

Shuri snapped her attention back to him. The pliers and chunk of metal she’d been holding clattered onto the table. “I knew it!” she crowed. 

“What?”

“Barnes misses Rogers!” 

T’Challa raised his eyebrows. He’d assumed no one else had come to this conclusion, though now he supposed that if he had figured it out, his sister was three times as likely to already have done it. “I’m beginning to think that Captain Rogers’s presence would help Sergeant Barnes greatly in his recovery,” T’Challa said. “Since you are overseeing the process, I thought it would be best to get your opinion.” 

“Brother, I have been waiting a long time for you to think of this,” Shuri said. She grinned and clasped her hands behind her back, like an excited child trying to be patient while waiting for the present they knew they were going to get. “I’ve done everything I can scientifically, but, as Mother would say, some hurts come from the soul, and cannot be healed with science.” 

“Are you saying you believe that love will heal Barnes?” T’Challa smirked. “That seems out of character.” 

Shuri rolled her eyes. “I saw what love did for you. It definitely couldn’t hurt.” She turned back to the table. “I say bring Rogers back. He has probably been pining since he left Barnes in the cooler.” 

“You have a strange way of showing you care,” T’Challa told her. He started for the lab door. “We should invite Barnes here for a movie night, too.” 

“We don’t have any movies in English.” 

“I’m sure you can find some.” 

 

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, nothing like that.” 

“But it’s urgent?” 

“Yes.” 

“What’s going on?” 

T’Challa rubbed his fingers over his beard and looked to Nakia. She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, a silent,  _ Are you going to surprise him or ease his conscience? _

“I do not trust that this connection is secure enough to reveal the explicit details of the situation,” T’Challa said. Utter bullshit. Nakia choked on a laugh. 

Rogers said, “I’ll be there by the end of the week.” 

“Thank you, Captain.” 

“Of course, Your Majesty.” 

T’Challa grinned and hung up. 

“You enjoy playing matchmaker,” Nakia giggled. “I can see it in your eyes.” 

He shrugged. “With these two, it is not difficult. I only wish to make them happy.” 

 

Steve jittered the whole way to Wakanda. He was alone in the jet; Nat was somewhere in the Balkans digging up resources for safe houses and finances; Wanda was hotel-hopping her way through the United Kingdom; Vision was tucked away in a French summer cottage with an elderly beekeeper and some sheepdogs; and Sam was… somewhere. Steve knew he was alive and well because sometimes Sam called long enough to ask what Steve preferred, a novelty snow globe or a fridge magnet, and Steve said fridge magnet, and Sam said he didn’t have a shield to stick it to, anymore, so he got a snow globe, and then he hung up. 

So Steve was alone for this trip to Wakanda.

He hadn’t been back since T’Challa called to tell him they were considering taking Bucky out of cryo. He’d arrived hours after the call, and stayed up for several more hours while Shuri and a dozen other specialists pored over reports and readings and lab results and treatment plans. His opinion was sought after, and all he could say was “I think he’s waited long enough.” 

When they’d taken him out of cryo, it was decided that he would be given a week long adjustment period; which meant that Steve hadn’t seen him. Just before the week was up, he’d had to leave on official fugitive business, and in the few months since he hadn’t so much as spoken to Bucky. 

Longing ached in him. 

To have him back and lose him, so many times, so quickly, broke Steve’s heart in ways he couldn’t admit. It didn’t help that he barely had his other friends, either. He was lonely. He just wanted to be able to have the people he loved in one place, and to keep them there for longer than a week at a time. 

Whatever urgent matter awaited him in Wakanda, Steve hoped he could have time to see Bucky. It may have been selfish, but he wanted nothing more than to see his best friend, to touch him, to talk to him, to be reminded of the fact that he was alive and safe and, most importantly, himself. 

The jet touched down late at night. The city sprawled out in glittering metropolis, thousands of tiny stars stacked in neat patterns, the streets rivers of light, the sky overhead navy blue and shimmering under the protective barrier over the city. It was beautiful, the most wonderful place Steve had ever seen. He was glad to be back. 

Some of the Dora Milaje waited for him on the platform, and Nakia. She smiled when he approached, and they gripped forearms in a friendly greeting. 

“It’s good to see you, Captain,” she said warmly. 

“As always, it’s good to see you, too,” he replied. 

“Come with me. The urgent matter awaits you, in the council room.” She led him away, the guard falling into formation around them, and they ventured into the palace. 

Inside was as grand as ever, if a little muted given the late hour. Golden light glowed from the ceiling, and traditional torches burned from alcoves periodically set in the walls. Guards nodded when they passed, and Steve nodded back, taking note of the vibranium weapons and beaded leather armor. He was always struck by the immaculate balance Wakanda had maintained between advanced technology and traditional practices. The entire country functioned on a level far exceeding that of the entire planet, but the connection the people cultivated with their cultures and ancestries and heritages threaded that technology, a heartbeat, a lifeblood. The country had a soul that the people kept alive. 

He thought he understood why they worked so hard to keep it safe from the rest of the world. 

Nakia pushed open the massive double doors that lead to the council room, and beyond the doors T’Challa and Shuri stood side by side, General Okoye at their backs, and all three smiled when Steve and Nakia entered the room. 

“Captain,” T’Challa said, tipping his head. 

“Your Majesty,” Steve replied, also tipping his head. A smile pulled his mouth, unbidden. The energy of the room was not what he expected; impatient, but happily so. It didn’t seem as though anyone was anxious, the way they would have been if something was wrong. 

“How was your trip?” T’Challa inquired. 

“Boring,” Steve admitted. “Travelling alone isn’t my favorite.” He looked around the room, the council chairs all empty, the night sky outside the large window dark, but the city glowing down below. “Can I ask what the urgent situation is?” 

“Ah, yes.” T’Challa turned to Shuri. “Would you like to explain?” 

Shuri clapped once and yelled, “Yes!” 

Nakia snorted. Okoye rolled her eyes. Steve raised his eyebrows. 

“Have you been lonely, Captain?” Shuri asked. 

Okoye and T’Challa exclaimed in Xhosa what sounded like the exact same thing, but it only made Nakia laugh. 

Steve looked at Shuri, unsure of how to answer. “I’m confused,” he admitted. 

“I apologize, Captain,” T’Challa said. “The urgent matter is, perhaps, not as urgent as I led you to believe. We were only concerned for the emotional wellbeing of Sergeant Barnes.” 

Panic spiked through Steve. “Is he okay?” 

“Yes,” Shuri assured him. “He’s just lonely.” 

“You are an abomination,” Nakia laughed. “Be considerate, little sister. Don’t embarrass them.” 

“I’ve been alive too long to be easy to embarrass,” Steve assured her, though it wasn’t true in any capacity. The knowledge that a sixteen year old girl seemed to understand his relationship with Bucky Barnes better than he did rattled him and made him wish he was back on ice. Sort of. 

“We were hoping you would spend some time with him,” T’Challa continued. “It would be beneficial for you both, we believe. To be reunited, as good friends.” 

Shuri muttered something in Xhosa. Okoye put a hand on her forehead. Steve blushed despite his inability to understand the language. 

“Of course I’ll see him,” Steve said. “Where is he?” 

“I will take you,” Nakia said. 

“No, I will,” Shuri cut in. 

“No,” T’Challa said, “I think I—”

“You children,” Okoye snapped. “None of you will take him. I will. The rest of you will stay here, and go to bed. It’s late.” 

All three turned to look at her. 

“Yes, Mother,” Nakia said. Shuri snickered. 

T’Challa said, “You know I am your king, right?” 

Okoye pursed her lips. “Do not think I will not consult the Queen Mother on your bedtime, my King.” 

T’Challa laughed. “You win. Take him to the White Wolf. We will see you in the morning.” He saluted Steve, jokingly, and Shuri and Nakia followed suit. Steve bowed at the waist as they filed out of the council room. Shuri held her hand out for a high five. The ache in Steve’s chest had faded just a bit. 

In its place, excitement reigned. Okoye and two of the Dora Milaje escorted him through the palace, down to the hangar where the hovercrafts were docked. As they walked, Steve’s heart pounded in his chest, a wild thrashing at the mere notion of seeing Bucky again. 

He was going to see Bucky. Bucky was going to see him. They were going to be in the same room, both of them conscious, both of them themselves and not under an influence, and they were going to be alone. They could talk. They could be together and not worry about protecting themselves or each other. 

Steve was going to see Bucky. 

Okoye drove them out of the city, into the hills, where it was dark and the stars shone in a vivid pattern overhead. Steve lost himself in the sky, traced constellations and watched the moon creep over the hills, watched the sky patch itself with clouds. His heart felt too big for his chest; the Wakandan sky had that effect on him. He was not surprised. 

The hovercraft came to a gentle stop at the edge of a small farm. In the light of the headlights, Steve saw a fenced in pasture and barn where goats slept, and a chicken coop. Children’s toys littered the yard. A dog emerged from a little hut and woofed once at them, but seemed to recognize the Dora Milaje because it was a friendly woof. 

Light glowed from within the house, a wooden hut, smoke curling out of the roof. Steve stood in the dirt, staring, suddenly unsure. What if Bucky didn’t want to see him? What if, after coming out of cryo, he’d decided that he didn’t want anything to do with Steve? 

“Captain,” Okoye murmured at his side. “Do not worry so much. He has missed you.” 

Steve looked at her. She smiled. 

Two of the Dora Milaje removed duffel bags from the hovercraft and brought them over to him. “Your things,” they said. Steve thanked them in Xhosa. 

Okoye moved for the hut. The dog emerged from his house again when they approached, tail wagging, and Okoye patted his head and encouraged Steve to do the same. He did. The dog seemed to enjoy it. 

When Okoye knocked on the door, Steve suddenly became very concerned with how his hair looked. He remembered he hadn’t shaved in months. At least he was showered; though his uniform was a little unfortunate, in terms of cleanliness. He then regretted wearing his uniform at all, because it was a little ostentatious and he felt like a jerk. He hoped Bucky wouldn’t think he was a jerk for wearing his uniform. 

The door opened. Light spilled over the threshold. 

“Okoye,” Bucky said, and then he stopped. 

“I have something for you,” Okoye said. She smirked and stepped aside. 

Steve swallowed. “Hey, Buck,” he whispered. 

Bucky looked good. He was wearing a blue tunic, loose and comfortable-looking, and a darker blue square of fabric was tied around his left shoulder, where his arm used to be. His hair was long, past his chin, and part of it was tied back in a knot. Scruff lined his jaw and chin. His eyes went wide when he saw Steve. 

“Oh,” he said. 

“Goodnight, gentlemen.” Okoye and the Dora Milaje climbed back in the hovercraft. 

“Can I come in?” Steve asked. It occurred to him that he was staying here. That T’Challa and Shuri and Nakia and the entire palace guard had planned this without telling him. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He hadn’t blinked or looked away since his eyes landed on Steve. 

The inside of the hut did not match the expectations its outside had set. Inside, it was all sleek, modern design; dark hardwood floors, simple furniture with clean lines, a stainless steel kitchen, flat screen TV and keypads everywhere for various pieces of technology. It was not barren or cold, though. Bucky had decorated the walls with art, some of it professional Wakandan, some of it done on printer paper with crayons and young hands. Books were stacked on every flat surface in the living room. Plants dominated the windowsills and kitchen island. Mismatched dish sets littered the counters, and photos of goats and the dog were plastered on the fridge with cartoon figurine magnets. 

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Bucky said. 

They stood where the living room and dining room blended together, just looking at each other, too scared to move, as if the moment would stop being real if they tried to deepen it. Steve felt like he was holding his breath. 

“I didn’t, either,” he admitted. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” Bucky’s eyes shone. His fingers twitched. 

“Me too,” Steve whispered. He stepped forward. 

“Oh, you jerk,” Bucky mumbled, and then they fell into a hug. 

They hadn’t hugged in so long. It physically pained Steve to realize that “so long” meant “eighty fucking years.” He hadn’t hugged Bucky in eighty years. Since before he went into the ice. Since before Bucky had fallen off the train. It had been so damn long. 

When they pulled away, Steve didn’t let Bucky go far. He cupped his face, winced when he realized he was still wearing gloves, ripped them off and tried again. Bucky laughed. A tear tracked down his cheek. 

“I have missed you,” Steve whispered, “so much.” He dragged his thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone. His fingers tangled in the edges of Bucky’s hair. 

“I missed you too, Stevie,” Bucky whispered back. 

There was something else they hadn’t done in eighty years, but Steve didn’t know if he could still do that. He didn’t know what had and hadn’t changed. Didn’t know what the rules were, where the lines had been drawn. And he didn’t know how to ask. 

“How long are you here?” Bucky asked. 

“I don’t know. Forever.” 

Bucky put his hand on top of Steve’s. “Good.” 

Their faces were close. So close their noses touched. Steve was leaned over him, head tilted down, Bucky’s tilted up, and it had been  _ so long _ . Steve said, “Can I?” and Bucky replied, “I’ve been waiting, idiot,” and they kissed. For the first time in eighty years. 

Eighty years was a long time, so it took a moment to relearn each other, but after the first couple fumbled tries, the gentle laughter and the bumping of noses, the playful touches, they lined up perfect and fell into each other, nothing but closeness and heat, the kind of kiss that burned them up from the inside out. Steve backed Bucky up until he hit the kitchen counter, and Bucky groaned and tangled his hand in Steve’s hair. 

“God,” Bucky gasped. 

Their beards scraped together. The burn made Steve’s breathing catch, and he moved a hand down to grab Bucky by the thigh and shove closer, kiss harder. The wait had gone on long enough. He wanted to be so close they’d become one person. He wanted to plant himself in Bucky, so they’d never have to leave each other again. He didn’t want to give this up. Didn’t want it to end. 

The kiss did, eventually. They slowed down, pulled away, breathed against each other’s skin and looked each other in the eyes. 

“We have time,” Bucky promised. 

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. He stroked Bucky’s jaw, the stubble there. “We have time.” 

They had time, together, and they weren’t going to waste it. 

 

Steve was introduced to the dog officially in the morning. After Bucky cooked breakfast, some fantastic egg and meat scramble with a wonderfully spicy sauce, they dressed and went outside. The dog, Simba (according to Bucky, Shuri had named him that because he was large and golden, like a lion, and she and Bucky had watched “The Lion King” together for the first time when they’d found the dog), adored Bucky and followed him all over the small farm. 

There were eight goats, all cranky and loud and fond of Bucky but not of Steve. There were a dozen chickens, who were relatively boring. Bucky wandered about the farm, feeding them and talking to them, and he told Steve stories about what they were all like. Simba chased the chickens, tail wagging, and at noon a gaggle of children tumbled into the yard to chase Simba. 

They all bounded up to Bucky, too, smiling and yelling in Xhosa and pieces of English, offering him flowers and drawings and little tinkered-together inventions. Bucky chatted with all of them, called them by name, had inside jokes with many, introduced every single one to Steve. They didn’t seem to recognize Steve as Captain America, which was the best possible outcome. 

At lunch, the guards stationed around the farm brought out enough fruit and meat-stuffed dumplings to feed a small army. Food was handed out to the children, first, with bottles of cold tea and candied figs for dessert. The guards sat with them in the grass, laughing and entertaining the children with stories. Steve watched Simba beg scraps off of almost everyone, then settle at Bucky’s side like a sentinel. 

One of the kids fed a slice of mango to a goat, and then when she tried to walk away the goat followed her, bleating obnoxiously for more. She cackled, and the goat chased her around the yard. Bucky joined the chase, going for the goat, and more kids hopped up to follow, and soon the whole farm was overrun with children and grown adults and goats, everyone laughing and playing a game of tag with no one “it.” 

Steve hadn’t been so happy in so long. 

Two of the six guards escorted the children home, to the village down the road, when the sun started sliding down out of the sky. Bucky enlisted Steve’s help rounding the goats back into the pasture, and collecting eggs from the chicken coop. The remaining guards cleaned up the picnic and prepared to switch with the next shift, but not before offering goodbyes to Bucky and Steve and sneaking Simba some last treats. 

When they were alone again, in the hut, Bucky and Steve fell onto the couch and pretended they were going to find something to watch on the complicated TV; in reality, they cuddled up as close as they could get and fell asleep with afternoon light streaming in through the window, Simba stretched out on the floor next to them. 

 

“You’re not wearing it right.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You don’t have it pinned right.” 

“Well how do you pin it?” 

“Here— give me that—” 

Bucky had long since mastered the art of fastening his own clothing alone and one-handed, but fastening Steve’s was a different kind of challenge. First, it was a struggle to make himself willfully cover up Steve’s body, on principle. Second, the angles were entirely different, and reaching around Steve to pin corners of the tunic required leaning in close enough that it was distracting. And third, his hand was shaking enough that he couldn’t operate the pin and get it to actually hold the fabric in place. 

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “Doesn’t seem like you’re doing much better than I was,” he teased. 

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbled. “I only have one arm. You have to be nice to me because of it.” He fumbled the pin again and stuck Steve right in the shoulder. 

“Ow,” he said, deadpan. 

“I don’t know why you’re trying to put on clothes, anyway.” Bucky readjusted his grip and managed to hook the pin through the right places in the fabric. “It’s nine o’clock at night, we’re not going anywhere.” 

“Would you prefer me without clothes?” Steve smirked at him. His hands crept onto Bucky’s waist, fingers searching for the gaps in his own tunic. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Kinda.” 

“Really?” Steve found what he was looking for, and soon his hands were pressed flat against the skin of Bucky’s lower back, hot and steadying. 

“Of course. I haven’t seen you naked in almost a century, Rogers. I barely remember what you look like, under there.” 

Such a bald-faced lie. Bucky had memories of Steve’s body seared into his brain, like God made sure to give them back when he was being patched up post-HYDRA. He did not intend on forgetting what Steve looked like. But, a refresher couldn’t hurt. 

“Well then.” Steve moved one of his hands from Bucky’s waist to his hand, gently pushing it off his shoulder until the pin unhooked again and the tunic unravelled from his body. The fabric rustled to the ground, and Bucky grinned. 

“Some things don’t change,” he sighed. 

Steve laughed. “Exactly as you remember?” 

Bucky hummed and ran his hand over Steve’s chest, down his stomach and his flexing abs, lower to his cock. “This is bigger, I think.” 

“Don’t be stupid, it’s the same.” 

“No, it’s definitely bigger. I wouldn’t have let anything this big inside me back then.” 

“You liar.” Steve grabbed his chin and kissed him. 

Bucky laughed. “I’m not lying,” he insisted. “I had limits, back then. I let you fuck me because it had to have been smaller.” 

“It was  _ not _ , I’m telling you.” Steve kissed him again. He tapped his thumb on Bucky’s bottom lip. A thrill shot through him, hot and quick. “Are you sayin’ you won’t let me fuck you now? It’s too big, so you’re just gonna back out and use my fingers, instead?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Bucky whispered, his voice suddenly hoarse. God, he missed Steve talking to him like this. “I’ll take whatever you give me, now.” He leaned up, in, wrapped his fingers around Steve’s cock and felt him get hard. “What do you wanna give me, Stevie?” 

The answer seemed simple enough. Steve hoisted Bucky by his thighs, hiked the tunic up high and grabbed his ass, carried him out of the walk-in closet and into the bedroom proper. Bucky caught his mouth in a kiss, open and hot, his arm hooked around Steve’s neck. They were already breathing hard, excitement and anticipation ramping everything up by a thousand percent. 

Steve tumbled them onto the bed. He pulled off the scarf covering Bucky’s left shoulder, then unfastened the tunic and pulled that away, too. Neither of them was wearing underwear, but that was only because they’d showered after dinner and it seemed pointless. Bucky wondered what it would be like, to go a whole day wearing nothing underneath, knowing that if they wanted to they could just grab each other at any time. He almost laughed at the idea. 

“What’s so funny?” Steve said, smiling. 

“Nothing.” Bucky cupped his face. “I just like you.” 

“Aw. Thanks.” Steve dragged his palm down Bucky’s chest. “I like you, too.” 

It was like they were kids again, seventeen in Brooklyn, before the war, just two best friends huddled in Bucky’s twin bed while his parents were away for the weekend, messing around a little too much until someone slipped up, and the messing around meant more and they kept doing it, until it meant everything and there was no going back. It was like that. 

Thankfully, some things were different. Bucky didn’t come as soon as Steve got a hand on his cock; and Steve wasn’t sick, so Bucky didn’t worry about him. They kissed hot and desperate, pressed together everywhere, Bucky’s hand deep in Steve’s hair and holding on for dear life. 

“Do you want me to?” Steve asked after a bit, kneeling over Bucky with one hand low between his legs. Bucky groaned and moved down into it. 

“Yes, yes,” he gasped. “Please, Stevie, I want it.” 

Steve looked like he’d been punched. Lube was fetched, a fumbling ordeal that had them both laughing, and it wasn’t long before Steve’s fingers were slicked up and Bucky had to bite down on the groan that fought its way up through his throat. 

“What are you being quiet for?” Steve said, smirking. He leaned down and kissed Bucky’s shoulder, right where the scar tissue started, and some strange thrill went through him. 

“Old habit,” Bucky gasped. The last time they’d done this, they were somewhere in France and their tent was tiny and the rest of the Howling Commandos slept barely feet away, and if he wasn’t quiet the consequences weren’t minor. The teasing would have been atrocious. 

“You don’t have to be quiet, here,” Steve reminded him. He twisted his fingers gently, and Bucky gasped. “Come on, Buck, I missed your voice.” 

“Jesus, Stevie.” He wanted to talk about missing each other? Bucky didn’t even know where to start, when it came to missing Steve. There was so much. He was in a perpetual state of missing Steve Rogers. It was just a fact of his existence, now. “Hurry up,” he said, flexing his hips down onto Steve’s fingers, gripping his hair hard. 

“You sure? It’s been a while.” 

“Shut up. I’m good.” 

“Alright, fine.” 

Heat swept through Bucky’s body and he shivered under Steve’s touch, his breath catching, adrenaline coursing through him. Steve’s hands trembled, just a bit, and they kissed gentler than they had all night. 

Bucky hadn’t been fucked in almost a hundred years, and in that time his memory had been wiped and he’d been brainwashed and traumatized and mentally destroyed and repaired, so it made sense that whatever memories he had of taking a cock up the ass didn’t quite live up to the reality of it. 

Steve went slow, and he went gentle, but Bucky still choked on his own breathing and arched his back hard, still clenched his fist in the sheets and nearly tore them, still locked his thighs so tight around Steve’s waist his muscles ached. Sensation wrecked him, his nerves scorched, pleasure rattling his bones. He gasped weakly, and when he managed to open his eyes his eyelashes were damp. 

“Holy fucking fuck,” he mumbled. 

“That good?” Steve smirked. His eyes were wide and dark, lips bitten red. He was doing about as well as Bucky, it seemed. 

“Are you going to move, or what?” Bucky snapped. There was no heat in his voice. He was so hard it hurt, and he knew that one touch of his dick and he’d be gone. This wasn’t going to take long, at all. 

“So impatient,” Steve said. His smile was blinding. 

“I’ve been waiting.” Bucky closed his eyes and dropped his head back on the pillow. “Just hurry up and fuck me until I can’t talk, or something.” 

He knew Steve could, and would, do it. It was only a matter of goading him into it. Apparently, Steve was also on the very edge, so not a lot of that goading was needed. All it took was one wrecked smile from Bucky, and he was gripping one of Bucky’s thighs hard and driving into him with enough force to move the bed. 

“Ohhhh, God,” Bucky whined. Heat burned through him. Steve’s cock was so big and so perfect, he felt like he was being split open in all the best ways. Steve’s beard dragged rough over the skin of Bucky’s neck, the burn soothed by Steve’s breath and his mouth. Steve’s hands gripped Bucky’s thighs possessively, holding him open and pinning him down. Everything was perfect. 

Then, Steve slowed, and right when Bucky was going to complain he moved them. Steve sat back and pulled Bucky into his lap, wrapped his legs around him, pulled Bucky down so he was sitting on Steve’s cock entirely, so close their bellies trapped Bucky’s cock between them, so close they pressed their foreheads together and kissed slow and deep. 

The new angle was heavenly. Bucky rocked his hips just enough to create a little friction, and they both groaned with it. 

“You’re so good,” Steve whispered. His hands gripped Bucky’s waist, hard, pushing a little with every movement of his hips. 

Bucky closed his eyes and dropped his head against Steve’s shoulder. Pressure built in his belly, lower and lower into his cock, pleasure lightning-bolting up his spine and through his muscles. His thighs flexed, movement stuttered. Steve bucked up into him. 

“I missed you,” Bucky whined, “So much.” 

“I missed you, too.” 

“I’m gonna come—” 

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and held him tight, kissed him hard on the mouth, pressed them together everywhere. Bucky shuddered and whimpered through it, a wave of heat cresting through his body, all of his muscles trembling, and he felt Steve gasp and swear and follow him over the edge. 

They stayed for a moment, breathing heavily, kissing when they could, smiling. Bucky said, “I love you, Rogers.” 

Steve laughed. “I love you, too, Barnes.” 

The guard stationed around Bucky’s hut escorted them to the palace the next day. Shuri showed them the working prototype for Bucky’s new arm, all of the intricate details that confounded Steve but apparently hadn’t been in the previous prosthetic. 

They ate lunch with T’Challa and Nakia, and then the Dora Milaje escorted them through one of the vibrant marketplaces in the city. Steve stopped to look at everything, and Bucky showed him how a lot of the wares worked; most of them were neat little gadgets, some were items of clothing, some were jewelry. Steve found one vendor selling snow globes and bought one for Sam that had a little goat herder napping on a rock while his goats munched on grass nearby. Bucky laughed when he saw it. 

T’Challa and Nakia were wonderful company, because they weren’t intrusive but were still curious. Steve was glad to know that they cared about Bucky’s wellbeing, and it also warmed his heart to see how they all interacted. T’Challa and Bucky behaved like brothers, and Bucky and Nakia were partners in crime. Steve wondered what kind of trouble they would have gotten into together if they’d all been friends as children. 

They ate lunch in a streetside cafe. People recognized them, of course; the Dora Milaje were with them, and T’Challa was the damned king, and Nakia was a local hero, and Steve and Bucky were the only white people for many miles. Still, the other patrons of the cafe only smiled and quietly wished them well, and it was such a relief to be left alone that Steve wondered if he could just stay in Wakanda forever. 

Just his luck, the question of the duration of his stay came up. 

Nakia said, “How long are you going to be with us, Captain?” 

Bucky went very still at Steve’s side. Steve didn’t look at him, but reached under the table and gently squeezed Bucky’s thigh, hoping to relieve some of his obvious anxiety. “I’m not sure,” he said honestly. “I’d like to stay as long as possible, but I don’t know when the others will need me.” 

“The others” being Wanda, Natasha, Vision, and Sam, all on the run, all scattered over the world attempting to remain safe and hidden. Steve couldn’t just abandon them any more than he could ask T’Challa to grant them political asylum like he’d done for Bucky and Steve. Two fugitives had to have been enough. 

“Well,” T’Challa said, setting down his fork and leaning his elbows on the table. He looked between Bucky and Steve, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish, Captain. Your presence here is more than appreciated.” 

Steve’s heart swelled with happiness; he felt Bucky’s hand settle over his own in obvious relief. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Steve said. 

“You don’t have to be so formal,” T’Challa laughed.

“If you keep calling him ‘Captain’ he’s going to keep calling you ‘Your Majesty’,” Bucky said. “It’s a cycle. You have to break it.” 

They all laughed. Steve felt himself relax for the first time since before the Accords. He leaned into Bucky, their hands linked under the table, and let the wonderful atmosphere of the moment wash over him. 

He was with Bucky, and they were safe and happy, with friends who cared for them and who they cared for in return, and the world was a little less ruined. 

Steve didn’t think he would be leaving for a long while. 

**Author's Note:**

> i just! want them! to be! happy! for once! in their fuCKING LIVES!
> 
> anyway i'm @dreamy-witch on tumblr if u wanna talk to me


End file.
